


It's A Good Life...

by mrs_d



Series: dS Snippets [15]
Category: due South
Genre: Community: ds_snippets | dsc6dsnippets, M/M, The Tragically Hip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7878877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t wanna miss the Hip.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Good Life...

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ds_snippets](http://ds-snippets.livejournal.com/). Prompt was "miss." 
> 
> You can probably guess where the title comes from, but if you can't, it's from [this amazing song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gwNVxvczgCs).

“Wrap it up, Kowalski, we’re closing early tonight,” Rob called across the shop.

Ray extracted himself from the car he was working on and pulled the cloth out of his pocket to wipe his fingers. He glanced curiously at the clock; it was barely six. Normally they worked until ten in the summer, since it wasn’t like it got dark.

“Why?” he asked, heading to the sink, where the other guys were already washing up.

“Don’t wanna miss the Hip.”

“The what?”

Pete turned, looking offended. John chuckled. Rob shook his head.

“I forgot you're American.”

* * *

As Ray drove through Inuvik on his way to the little house he’d called home for nearly two decades, he noticed that the streets were empty. Usually, he’d see families walking their dogs; young people wandering from bar to bar; teenagers hanging out on street corners, sipping spiked Coke on the curb.

“Weird,” he muttered.

* * *

Fraser met him at the door and led him into the living room, where there was pizza. On the TV, muted, there was a guy interviewing the Canadian Olympic team. Fraser sat down with the focused gaze that Ray had come to associate with Canadian so-called sports.

“You’re just in time,” he said. “The Hip’s about to start.”

“What is that, hockey?”

Fraser blinked, his mouth gaping. “Ray, the Hip is—”

The screen changed, to a dim-lit backstage area where a guy in a shiny suit was kissing other guys with instruments on the mouth, cupping their faces, pressing their foreheads together.

“What the—?” Ray said.

Fraser sniffed suddenly. Startled, Ray turned; Fraser’s eyes were gleaming in the light of the TV. He reached out, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume. Then he took Ray's hand and squeezed it.

“Just listen,” he said hoarsely.

 


End file.
